


Grounded

by oldcoyote (contrawise)



Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, M/M, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contrawise/pseuds/oldcoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve isn't accustomed to having birthdays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grounded

It's 4am when Steve ambles up the stairs and pushes through his front door, weary and bone tired from weeks in the air. He's been on the SHIELD carrier for too long, and the lack of a steady rumble all around him is disorienting, but the room comes into view quickly enough.

There's a banner and some streamers tacked around, simple but elegant in calligraphy writing, _Happy Birthday Steve_. There's a gap in the setting on the table where a cake may have been, a slight smear of icing on the cloth. The street lights through the window pick up some glittering hats in the corner, stacked on top of one another.

Blaine is on the couch, unconscious and sprawled out on a blanket sideways as though he'd been sitting upright not too long ago and simply drifted. Steve chuckles and slings his bag from his shoulder, dropping it softly behind the couch so he can walk around it, so he can see Blaine's peaceful face and the tangle of his arms against his chest.

He tried to wait up all night.

Steve picks at each opposite corner of the blanket and lifts Blaine's body up in a bundle, wrapped tight and warm against his chest. There are soft murmurs, little confused vibrations against his collarbone as Blaine wakes up for a moment and asks about something, but Steve just offers a calming  _shh_ in reply and presses a kiss to his forehead before he rests his cheek there, eyes closed, easy as breathing.

Birthdays never meant anything before. Another year until he could sign up to serve his country, another year of colds and flus and too many nurses to count. But there was a banner in the living room with his name on it, and a cake in the fridge, and a box in brown paper and red ribbon on the table - just because he was born and someone loved him.

When he curls up around Blaine's body in bed, he feels him wriggle in his sleep, nuzzling against Steve's neck, clutching at the front of his shirt and pulling them closer together. He hears another murmur, it sounds a lot like _home?_

"I'm here," Steve says. "I'm home."

A soft, pleased sound is all he gets by way of an answer, just a hum and the twitch of Blaine's hands squeezing and releasing happily against his body, making sure he's real.

As Steve falls asleep, he can hear the street sounds out the window; New Yorkers waking and wandering out into the dawn of the day.

 _Happy birthday_ , he thinks, grateful for the simple beauty of being grounded.


End file.
